


Costume Design for Dummies

by anniedison, orphan_account



Series: one by one they all just fade away [3]
Category: Community (TV), Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Community AU, F/M, Gen, Halloween, M/M, and a very quick reminder that you actually don't need to watch Community to understand this fic, and it's totally normal, because this is one crazy college, just know that weird things happen all the time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-05
Updated: 2013-11-27
Packaged: 2017-12-28 13:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/992353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniedison/pseuds/anniedison, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Enjolras gets a date and a rival, and manages to unintentionally become the cause of a mutant civil war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

Grantaire had a passionate hatred for many things, but quite possibly at the top of his list was the month of October. He couldn’t stand the orange,  _bright_ orange,  _everywhere._ And the cinnamon in the air and the pumpkin spice lattes and the half-melted Halloween candy which he never got as a kid because his useless shit of a dad never took him trick-or-treating. Not once. Ever. (Eponine’s inner psychologist would have a  _field day_  with that, which was why she would  _never_  know.)

 _This_  October was no different – Enjolras’s stupid cable-knit scarves (one for each day of the week) and the red tip of his perfect nose and ears and even his goddamn perfect sneeze during that one week when he had the sniffles and _still_  didn’t stay home – none of  _that_  was doing Grantaire any favors.

Which is why it didn’t come as much of a shock when Marius commented “ _You’re_  weirdly happy,” on Halloween.

“It’s the last day of October!” exclaimed Grantaire, as if that explained everything.

Marius murmured assent, trying to keep up with Grantaire by taking three steps for every one of his. “So you’re watching the horror movie marathon too? I’m really excited, ‘specially because I haven’t seen the third one of – “

“Yeah, that’s  _great_ ,” muttered Grantaire under his breath, stopping himself just short of accusing Marius of turning his whole  _life_  into a horror movie. Not that Marius would’ve heard anyway.

“ – and definitely, the genre has its faults, because – “

“Marius?”

“ – just  _look_  at all the throwbacks; there is literally no originality anymore – “

“ _Marius?”_

“ – honestly, they’re more culturally relevant than actually cinematically significant, which means – “

That was when Grantaire started to run. He actually had something to do, and Marius was the most annoying distraction in the entire history of annoying distractions. He could probably back that statement up too - knowing this school,  _The Entire History of Annoying Distractions_  was probably an actual class.

 Even with Marius on his tail screaming something about Alfred Hitchcock (seriously, they would’ve probably been married by now except for the fact that one of them was  _dead_ ), it was reasonably easy to find Professor Bahorel. The crowd that was deemed “the hippies and/or stoners” usually took the benches at the back of the school, and Bahorel may or may not have been their patron saint – depending on who you asked. (Dean Valdean always denied all knowledge of anything that went on behind the school, and was definitely not being blackmailed. Definitely.)

Grantaire managed to weave around two idiots making out on the lawn, two idiots doing considerably more than making out, and two more idiots covered in flower petals staring at the clouds before tapping Bahorel on the shoulder. “Hey. Long time, no – “

“Grantaire?” gasped the man, turning so fast he nearly ripped his shirt – it wouldn’t have taken much to rip the shirt anyway, considering that it probably only fit him ten years ago – and it was probably only fashionable ten years before  _that_. “Can’t believe it’s taken you this long to ‘ave the time to visit a friend – “ he began in a ridiculous caricature of a Cockney accent, which unfortunately actually happened to be his accent.

“I wouldn’t call ex-client a friend, exactly,“ said Grantaire with a roll of his eyes. “I still don’t know how I got the judge to let you out of  _that_  thing anyways. And god, your accent’s gotten worse.”

Marius suddenly appeared at Grantaire’s shoulder. “In Hartford, Hereford, and Hampshire, hurricanes hardly ever happen.”

“Huh?” asked Bahorel, while Grantaire groaned miserably.

“Go on, repeat after me. In Hartford – “

Bahorel began, “Wait, what? ‘Artford, ‘Ereford, and ‘Ampshire – what? ‘Urricanes ‘ardly hever – “

Marius burst into a fit of giggles. “This is  _priceless_.”

Turning very red, Bahorel buried his head in his hands. “That’s from  _My Fair Lady_ , right? Uncalled for, Pontmercy.  _Uncalled for_.” He’d suddenly put on a slightly wobbly but infinitely more posh voice.

“Oh, you know me!” said Marius, looking genuinely delighted.

“Your reputation precedes you.”

Marius shrugged and turned away. “Jehan probably said something. Anyways, I’ll leave you two to it. See you at the Halloween party, Grantaire?”

Grantaire nodded absently and watched him go with a sense of relief. “Okay, I told Marius I wanted to talk to you to give you the ‘If Prouvaire does anything to our favorite Adonis I will punch him in the jaw’ speech but that’s ridiculous, because I could just tell him myself, and I’m banking on the fact that he’s probably over that moron by now anyway.”

Bahorel gave a loud false cough (which Grantaire pretended not to hear) before responding. “So why  _are_  you here? It’s obviously not for small talk – “

“It’s kind of awkward. See, Marius said something a while back – something _weird_. Apparently it’d be in-character for me to try and cheat my way out of this place. He was pretty shocked I hadn’t done it already, and I don’t really blame him, because, well,  _look at me_. So yeah. I was wondering if you could get me answers to things. Not ‘things,’ but  _everything_. “

“You’re not even in my class!”

“No shit, psych is a waste of time. But you  _know_  teachers. You could get me cheat sheets! You  _do_  owe me – “

“Contrary to popular belief, I do have morals.”

“Like hell you do,” scoffed Grantaire. “I can’t survive on Enjolras’s notes forever because they’re a pain in the ass to read – “

“Grantaire?” came a shocked voice from one of the two idiots who were previously staring at clouds. He was blinking away sleep and looked particularly confused with a crown of daisies falling into his eye.

“ _Enjolras?”_ It took him a minute of deep breathing to regain his composure. _“_ I’d ask what you’re doing, but I don’t really want to know - the flowers suit you, though,” he added more flippantly than he felt. “You could  _actually_  go as Adonis for Halloween – “

“Now that you suggest it, then  _no_ ,” he shot back, crossing his arms belligerently.

“Hey, Grantaire!” said Jehan, finally looking up and seeing nothing out-of-the-ordinary in the way Grantaire and Enjolras were glaring at each other.

“Spare me,” spat Grantaire. “Seriously. And I’m begging you to put a shirt on. _Please_.”

Jehan turned to Enjolras, startled.

“So, Bahorel, you won’t?” asked Grantaire once more, with an air of desperation.

“No.”

“Okay then, I’m out. “ He stormed off, calling back “Losers!” as an angry afterthought.

He had a vague plan to find Bahorel’s office and break in, either for test papers or his secret liquor stash which may or may not have existed, but ended up taking a wrong turn somewhere and ended up in the gloomiest room he’d ever seen, dark and filled with posters in illegible gothic font. He heaved a dramatic sigh and rested his elbow on a counter, hoping that he’d somehow found his way into a secret speakeasy on the middle of campus.

Suddenly a set of fingers – reasonably nice fingers, from what Grantaire could tell – found their way around his wrist.

“Why are  _you_  here?” asked the person who owned the fingers, a scrawny twerp with messy black hair and spectacles falling off the bridge of his nose.

“Hm?” murmured Grantaire idly. The fingers tapped against his wrist soothingly.

“The only thing  _you’re_  suffering from is an overdose of charm.” He shot off the line with a practiced air and then regretted it instantly. “Sorry, not true. Your heart rate’s  _crazy_  elevated, so either you’ve had a nasty shock, or you’ve been smoking?”

“Not my poison of choice. Wait – so is  _this_  the nurse’s office?”

“I take it you got lost.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s why we mainly get drop-ins here. Go figure.” He grinned. “I’m Joly, by the way. I kind of volunteer here as part of premed. At least, I  _think_  I’m doing premed. I doubt half my classes are transferable anyways, but I’ll take what I can get.” He earnestly brushed a strand of flyaway hair behind his ear. “Take a lollipop with you on your way out, ‘kay?”

“Mm, I think I’ll stay a while. I mean, if that’s okay?”

Joly’s jaw dropped in shock. “Did my ‘overdose of charm’ line actually work? You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to use that – “

“Nah, it was pretty bad.  _Really_  bad.”

Joly groaned. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I just – um…can I ask you something?”

“Medical or otherwise?”

“Otherwise.”

“Yeah?”

“You want to come with me to the Halloween party?”

“ _What?_ ”

“I’m serious!”

“Okay, can you clarify? Define ‘with.’ Like the ‘with’ in I’m sick  _with_  tuberculosis, or – “

“Oh my  _god_. Why would I – “

“Then yes.” Joly beamed. “I get off shift in an hour, so if you want to hang around, there are magazines from two decades ago somewhere around here…”

He’d exaggerated – the oldest Grantaire found was from  _one_  decade ago. While Joly was organizing bottles of cough syrup in the back room by color, he was learning precisely how to win over your man in six easy steps – not that those easy steps were particularly easy, or would’ve worked on Enjolras, or anyone with a brain for that matter.

He’d just turned the fifth page of the article in horror when the door banged open.

“Joly?  _Joly!”_  cried a balding young man with sideburns shaped like stars. “I think I’ve got the flu – at least, I’m projectile-vomiting into trash cans and I’m pretty sure that’s not normal – “

“Stop screwing with me, Starburns!” shrieked Joly, voice oddly high-pitched. “It’s not funny! It wasn’t funny when you drew red spots on your face and pretended to have chicken pox, and it’s not funny now, and – “

“I’m not lying!”

“Shut  _up_ , Starburns!”

“Stop calling me Starburns!”

“Bossuet’s a shit excuse for a name – “

“Take that back and  _do something_!”

Joly threw a bottle of grape-flavored cough syrup at his head, which hit him above his eye with an audible crack. “You’re an ass. And I’ve got  _a date_.” He vaulted over the counter and forcibly grabbed Grantaire’s arm. “That’s right, a date.”

“You? A date?” asked Starburns, rubbing his forehead with wide eyes.

Joly stuck out his tongue and then turned to look at Grantaire seriously. “I lied; my shift’s over. Let’s get out of here,” he whispered in a very confused Grantaire’s ear, and – ignoring his protests of “You don’t even know my name yet!” - aggressively dragged him out the door.

“Please tell me you have a car,” begged Joly through gritted teeth halfway to the parking lot.

“Yeah, but – “

“Good, ‘cause I have a bicycle and nobody takes you seriously when you go places on a bicycle, and  _shit_  – “

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I’m  _fine_! Absolutely fine! Questioning my vocation and life choices and –  _ugh_  – “ he’d kicked a rock that was too big to be kicked and stubbed his toe – “but I’m absolutely goddamn fine!”

Grantaire checked his watch – it was three, and the Halloween party wouldn’t start for another few hours. “…I think you need a drink,” ventured Grantaire, after ensuring that Joly probably was done with the whole kicking thing. “A strong one.”

“I don’t drink! I swear to god, it’s the worst – “

“ _Can_  you drink?”

“I guess, as of…two weeks ago. But - ”

“Then you’re coming with me,” stated Grantaire firmly, and started dragging Joly instead of vice versa.

 

* * *

 

They ended up in a bar Grantaire swore by, somewhere on L Street, where Joly faked sipping something Grantaire ordered for him that looked positively  _foul_.

“So you want to be a doctor, but you don’t like sick people.”

“That sounds about right,” confessed Joly miserably. “So basically I want to make sick people un-sick, but I’m too scared of getting sick  _myself_  to get close enough to them to de-sick-ify them, and – “

“Wonderful word choice you’ve got there. I can see why you’re not in an  _actual_ college – “

Joly groaned. “You’re worse than my  _parents._ ”

“And I just  _love_  being compared to old people,” said Grantaire with a sardonic twist of his lip, before hiccupping morosely.

Joly suddenly widened his eyes in panicked alarm and pushed his barstool much too close to Grantaire’s, the squeak of the chair against the floor irrationally loud in the empty room.

“How drunk are  _you_?” Grantaire slurred when Joly’s hand slid to press the vein on his neck.

“Not at all,” he replied in a dampeningly sensible tone, his hand inching lower. “I mean, not just compared to  _you_ , but not at  _all_.”

“God, I  _wish_  you were Enjolras,” blurted Grantaire suddenly, burying his head in his hands. “I wish.”

“Is he the one you were telling me about in the car who hijacked your Netflix account?” asked Joly, tone even.

Grantaire snorted. “Nah, that’s Marius. And then Feuilly walked in on us watching Breaking Bad in the study room and practically – no,  _actually_  had a heart attack.”

“So which one’s Enjolras?” Joly’s hand was soothingly rubbing Grantaire’s back (probably trying to make sure his spine wasn’t growing crooked or something.)

“Well, he’s  _hot_.”

“That’s…a good start.”

 “Enjolras is…well, he’s what I  _would_  be if I wasn’t disillusioned and jaded and a total goddamn mess and cared about something enough to walk around with color-coded sticky notes and pens behind my perfect stupid ears except I don’t even  _have_  perfect ears so he’s basically not me  _at all_ , and I just – “ he rested his head on Joly’s shoulder and rubbed his eyes violently.

“Well,  _he_  sounds like a charmer.”

“Tell me about it.”

“It’s not polite to talk about some other guy on our first date.”

“This  _isn’t_  a date. It’s an…arrangement.”

“I figured. Couldn’t expect anything more from an asshole who can’t even hold his alcohol.”

Grantaire glared at him balefully, took a giant swig directly from his bottle, and immediately started coughing. “I mean, look at you, you were the easiest target I could find.”

Joly gave a small and sad smile as his hand slipped from his spine into Grantaire’s back pocket, making him jump. “Right back at you,” he said, swiftly pulling out Grantaire’s keys. “Come on, we’re going to be late. And  _I’m_  driving.”

Grantaire rubbed his head confusedly and cursed loudly; Joly just grinned and jangled the keys.

 

* * *

 

“So, um,” Grantaire started as he and Joly, back at school, were crossing the darkening quad, “What exactly are you going as?” He’d changed in the car, throwing on a leather jacket over his white t-shirt and jeans (and rummaging in the glove compartment for a pair of aviators to hide his bleary eyes). He called himself James Dean; Joly had doubts, but decided it would be better not to voice them.

 “Oh! Right, it’s a Halloween party, I guess I do need a costume…I was thinking of using the giant inflatable red blood cell thing I’d saved from the STD awareness play I was forced into sophomore year, but - ”

“I’m not being seen with a  _blood cell_. No way in hell.”

Joly giggled nervously and pushed his glasses farther up on his nose. “Well, I’ve got some lab coats back in the nurse’s office? Hey, I know!” he said excitedly, bouncing up and down a little, “We could go as Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde!”

Grantaire shook his head emphatically.

 “One: I’m totally not doing a couple’s costume.” Joly rolled his eyes, but Grantaire plowed on resolutely, “Two: You’ve never actually read that book, have you?”

Joly shuffled his feet awkwardly.

 “…No.”

“Right,” Grantaire replied, laughing slightly. “It shows.” Joly stuck his tongue out at him, but the effect was somewhat ruined when his face suddenly brightened.

 “I have another idea!”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow, laughing.

 “Oh?”

Joly smiled mischievously.

 “So, with these lab coats…”

 

* * *

 

When Feuilly saw Eponine’s costume, he almost had a heart attack. (And he’d nearly let  _this_  girl babysit his children?)

She was dressed in tiny black shorts, black tights, black blazer, black fedora, and black heels that were probably illegal in at least three countries.

 “You decided to come as a  _stripper_?” he squeaked, after dropping his punch rather dramatically.

Eponine rolled her eyes.

 “I’m Velma Kelly from  _Chicago_ , dumby.” Feuilly didn’t look convinced. “Anyway,” Eponine continued, trying very hard not to laugh at the way he was desperately trying to only look her directly in the eye, “It’s stupid how people always call out girls for dressing like ‘sluts’ on Halloween.”

Feuilly nodded weakly.

Eponine smirked. “I mean, I know I look hot! And if anybody has a problem with that, they can suck it. Right?”

“Yeah,” Feuilly mumbled, fumbling for another glass of punch and taking a deep swig. “Right.”

“So, who are you?” Eponine asked, flicking at the lapel of a moth-eaten suit that looked like it had been new in the nineteenth century.

“Um…” Feuilly blinked several times before he was recovered enough to stammer out, “Mr. Darcy. From Pride and Prejudice.”

 “How romantic,” she practically purred.

 Feuilly swallowed nervously. “Thanks, um—“

“Hey, there you guys are!”

Both their heads whipped around so quickly Feuilly was pretty sure he heard bones pop. Cosette and Marius were walking towards them with matching blinding smiles, waving enthusiastically. Well, at least, Marius was walking. Cosette was wheeling. Apparently she’d kept the wheelchair they’d given her after she’d broken her leg (when she and Marius jumped out the window after their Spanish presentation last month.) She was also wearing a somewhat disconcerting bald cap.

 “What the hell?” Eponine asked, not even bothering to hold back her laughter. Marius was dressed in a ridiculous helmet and flowing-cape ensemble that might have looked impressive if it was worn by someone who wasn’t Marius.

 “Oh, it’s not real!” Cosette said hurriedly, gesturing at her head. “It’s a part of the costume, I’m—“

 “No, I got that,” Eponine replied shaking her head. Sometimes she really wondered how she ended up with friends like this.

 “So, er…what exactly are you supposed to be?” Feuilly asked, looking them up and down uncertainly.

“Charles and Erik!” Marius and Cosette replied simultaneously. Then they laughed and executed a complicated handshake maneuver that involved chest tapping and finger slapping. Feuilly and Eponine exchanged a look—that was a new development.

 “From X-Men?” Marius added at their blank stares.

“Yeah, no, very cool!” Eponine said hastily. They both beamed again, until Marius suddenly frowned.

 “Wait, that wasn’t very in-character, sorry.”

Cosette patted his hand sympathetically.

 “You’re very good at this,” Marius told her, in a suddenly much deeper, gravelly voice that held the barest hint of a German accent. “Also—nice Velma Kelly, Eponine.  _Chicago_ , 2002. Good movie.”

Feuilly almost spit out his drink; Eponine just laughed, twirling her fedora.

 “Why thank you, Erik.”

 “It’s Magneto,” he replied, solemn.

“More like Mag- _neat_ -o, because that costume is awesome!” the sudden appearance of what was apparently a doctor completely soaked in blood was quite a shock to all present. Feuilly dropped his punch again. Some of it splashed on Eponine’s heels, but she was too surprised by either the terrible pun or the gory surgeon to notice.

Grantaire came up behind the doctor, chuckling into his drink.

“Nice one, Joly.”

“Thanks.” The doctor grinned shyly, blushing. (It’d taken a lot for Grantaire to manage to get the fake blood on him, and Joly still wasn’t quite sure about the effect. He was still shocked the roof hadn’t come down with his own shrieks of “Swear to me on that stupid crush of yours that this stuff is non-toxic! Swear it!”)

Eponine looked pointedly between the two, arching an eyebrow.

 “So, Grantaire, who’s this?”

Grantaire’s smile reminded her slightly uncomfortably of a shark’s. “Oh, yeah, I guess I should introduce you. Guys, this is Joly. Joly, this is the guys. And girls!” he hastily added after catching Eponine and Cosette’s glares, made all the scarier by dark eye makeup on one a bald cap on the other. 

Joly dropped to one knee to shake Cosette’s hand at eye-level. “Professor X, huh? Nice to meet you.”

“Aren’t you the guy who showed up when I broke my leg and fainted because it was above your pay grade?”

Joly twirled a strand of hair around his finger awkwardly. “I have  _no_  idea what you’re talking about.”

Grantaire avoided Eponine’s searching gaze and decided to leave them to it, wandering around the badly-decorated gymnasium and totally  _not_  trying to find Enjolras.

Not that it was very difficult to find him, even though he was, he repeated to himself, totally not actually looking for him.

“Hey,” he said, stopping in front of the forlorn-looking figure in a perfectly-tied bedsheet, sitting sideways in a folding chair while rifling through a giant box of Junior Mints.

Enjolras didn’t look up, just snatched the laurel wreath from atop his golden curls and threw it straight ahead.

“Ow!”

“ _That’s_  for hurting Jehan’s feelings.”

“I thought you said you  _weren’t_  going as Adonis,” he said, brushing a stray leaf off his leather jacket and placing the wreath on top of Enjolras’s head again.

Enjolras’s only response was to take a seemingly authentic lyre from under his chair and shove it in Grantaire’s face, plucking it discordantly.

“Ah. Apollo.”

“Yeah.”

“Where the hell did you get  _that_?”

“Jehan’s second period  _Really_   _Obsolete Things That Have No Purpose But to Make You Look Cultured_  class.”

Grantaire shuddered. “Speaking of Prouvaire, where is he? He ditched you, didn’t he?” he asked with false sympathy.

“Getting me better candy. I can’t  _stand_  this crap.”

“Allow me to take it off your hands,” drawled Grantaire with a roll of his eyes.

“Go ahead - he’s right, those  _are_  crap.” Jehan Prouvaire had just popped up behind Enjolras as if by magic with two squares of Ghirardelli chocolate; Enjolras bestowed upon him a positively sickening smile.

“What are you  _wearing_?” said Grantaire by way of a greeting, with a nauseated expression. Jehan was dressed nearly identical to Enjolras, except  _his_ bedsheet was pale blue and showing too much leg to be seemly. And he had a bow that was taller than he was. A  _working_  bow. Grantaire took a step back in sudden alarm.

“I’m his sister,” explained Jehan with a grin. “And I stole the bow from a Legolas in the corner who was making out with a Queen Victoria – he didn’t notice it was gone. Had no idea Vicky was that good of a kisser, but – oh, stop looking at me like that! Don’t worry, I’ll give it back.”

“Oh, I’m not worried, not  _at all_. Because the moral decline of our society is really not an issue - ”

“Huh?”

“That. Is.  _Incest_!” snarled Grantaire.

“You’re drunk,” stated Enjolras with certainty. “Oh, god – “

“You and Artemis have fun over there; I can’t stand this – “

“Grantaire?” asked Joly suddenly from behind him, tapping his shoulder. “What’s going on – is  _that_? – oh.”

Grantaire stared at him with a weirdly predatory mixture of shock and relief in his eyes, and bent him over backwards as he kissed him for the better part of a minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! As always, please feel free to leave feedback and come say hi on tumblr ([here](http://dawidtennant.tumblr.com/) and [here](http://cooltaire.tumblr.com/)).


	2. Part II

 After Grantaire and Joly’s impromptu make-out session, they backed away to a dimly lit corner, ostensibly for further sessions of the making-out variety. It took Enjolras, understandably stunned, about ten minutes to sufficiently calm down enough for introductions.

In that time, Grantaire managed to kiss Joly at least half a dozen more times while also procuring them two glasses of punch. When Enjolras came up to them, fingers white-knuckled on his toga and face doing a passable imitation of composed, Grantaire’s drink was already almost gone.

“So,” Enjolras said, struggling to keep his voice casual, “I see you’ve brought…someone?” Enjolras’ eyes took in the fake bloodstains that covered Joly’s lab coat (and that had been transferred to Grantaire’s white shirt), and his thick-framed glasses, messy hair, and wide smile.

_Shit_ , Enjolras thought,  _he’s cute._

“Oh, sorry, I forgot to introduce you!”  Grantaire’s wolfish smile caused a muscle in Enjolras’ cheek to twitch and left Joly somewhere between terrified and aroused. “Enjolras, this is Joly; Joly, this is…Apollo.”

Enjolras stuck out a stiff hand, which Joly accepted graciously.

“Nice to meet you – Enjolras, was it?” Joly beamed; Enjolras gave a taut nod in response. Jehan floated up, still toting his bow, and graced them all with a blinding smile.

“Joly!” he exclaimed, “So nice to see you again!”

“Wait, you know  _him_?” asked Enjolras and Grantaire simultaneously.

“Yeah,” affirmed Joly in a low whisper, a little too close to Grantaire’s ear for anyone else’s comfort (more specifically offending what Grantaire would call Enjolras’  _Victorian sensibilities_ ). “We share zero period pottery.”

Grantaire looked scandalized.

“What? I need an art credit to graduate!” 

"And your point is?" Grantaire spluttered. 

Joly rolled his eyes. “Oh, come off it. I spend most of the class making anatomically correct models of human penises and spleens out of clay and nobody gives a shit.” Grantaire shoved him pointedly with his shoulder; Joly quickly turned away and raised his voice enough for the rest to hear. “But actually, I was meaning to ask Jehan a question about our latest assignment.” 

Jehan’s eyes lit up. “You mean the one on post-Silver Age Atlantian bowls?” 

The two wandered off, still discussing the various intricacies of clay types and designs. 

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “Post-Silver Age…?”

“It’s probably better not to ask.” Grantaire said with a world-weary sigh. He tossed back the remainder of his punch in one go.

“So…” ventured Enjolras tentatively. “Where did you find him? Or should I ask  _when_?”

“Hm?” asked Grantaire, raising an infuriating eyebrow.

“Look, I get that you’re pissed at me because you can’t stand Jehan or whatever – “

“That’s not…”

“ – But that doesn’t give you any right to parade your one-night stand on your arm like that! Does that poor thing even know what he’s getting into? Seriously – “

“Hey, he works in the school nurse’s office, and I’d like to courteously inform you that you’re kind of being a dick right now, okay?”

" _I’m_  being a dick?" Enjolras asked, voice going up an embarrassing octave. "You’re the one who’s taking advantage of some kid—"

“I’m not taking advantage of anyone!” Grantaire interrupted, rolling his eyes. “And don’t call him a kid, he’s older than you. Besides, he knows exactly what he’s getting into.” Grantaire fumbled for another punch from a passing waiter – well, it was some random sophomore dressed as James Bond, so in his defense, at least it was someone who  _looked_  like a passing waiter. “And at least I’m not dressed like a prick.”

“I’m  _not_  dressed as a prick!” countered Enjolras hotly, uncomfortably certain that repeating Grantaire’s words back at him was a particularly bad excuse for a comeback. “At least I bothered to dress up at all! Unlike  _some people_  who use Halloween parties as an excuse to be all ‘I can get a date in twenty minutes so suck it’! It’s not – “

“Don’t be such an ass, Enjolras, for the love of god! The couples’ costume was nauseating enough, but the fact that you two are dressed as condescending manipulative bastards kind of puts the icing on the cake – “

“Since when did  _you_  know anything about Greek mythology?”

"Since I actually bothered to pick up a book."

Enjolras’ face was quickly turning a shade of red that clashed with his laurel wreath. “Okay, since you know so much, what’s so bad about Apollo anyway?” 

A cheshire cat smile spread slowly across Grantaire’s face. 

Enjolras gulped. So that had probably been a mistake.

“You want to know about Apollo?” 

“No, actually, that’s fine—” Enjolras tried to hastily butt in, but was practically shouted down by Grantaire. 

"Well! Let me tell you. For starters, he slaughtered all of some mortal woman’s sons just because she said she was better than Apollo’s mom. He also sent a really sucky plague to the Greeks at Troy because Agamemnon wouldn’t accept his priest’s ransom. He gave Cassandra the gift of prophecy because he thought that’d make her like him, but when she still didn’t want to have sex with him he threw a hissy fit and made it so no one would believe her. Talk about a dick move. He also—” 

“Okay, but he did some good things too!” Enjolras insisted, somewhat desperately. “I mean music, archery, prophecy—” 

Grantaire smirked. “Were you even listening? God, Enjolras, I don’t think you looked into any of this stuff beyond those stupid abridged versions we were all forced to read in elementary school.”

Enjolras opened his mouth, then snapped it shut in consternation.

“Yeah, seriously, you’ve  _got_  to take off those rose-colored glasses. Because Cassandra wasn’t the only one who got fucked over by Apollo’s ‘prophecies’— they almost always made things worse. I mean, look at that whole mess with Oedipus. And music? Well, this one satyr beat him in a flute contest, and he took his skin off. As for archery, well, when his sister finally found a guy that she liked, Apollo got so jealous that he tricked her into shooting him. Not that I’m too fond of Artemis anyway, but that was totally not cool. And then—” 

“But—” Enjolras tried to interject, but Grantaire steamrolled right over him. 

“That’s not even the worst of it. He made himself into a tortoise so some poor unsuspecting girl picked him up. Then he raped her. He also raped another girl while he was a wolf—” 

“ _Stop!”_  Enjolras finally yelled, actually clamping a hand over Grantaire’s mouth.

Grantaire, being Grantaire, bit Enjolras’s palm, causing him to withdraw his hand with a sudden cry of pain.

“Hypocrite! Now that was what I’d call a dick move.”

“I could’ve kicked you in the balls, so I’m pretty sure it could’ve been so much worse – “

“Just shut  _up_  – “

“I’m not planning on shutting up any time soon, “said Grantaire with a wink. Judging by the way things were going physically, if he kept this up for another five minutes, Enjolras would be  _kissing_  him to keep him quiet – and it’d probably lead to extremely violent and unfortunately public sex five minutes after that.

“I will bet all my Halloween candy you’ve got the Wikipedia page for Apollo open on your phone right now.”

“Hey, you don’t even  _like_  Halloween candy, but – “

“I  _knew_  it! Cheater!”

“If your only argument is ‘Wikipedia is an unreliable source,’ I’m pretty sure I’ve won this round. Any counterarguments? Going once, going twice – “

“You know what? Screw this shit. I’m out,” Enjolras muttered, turning on his heel and tripping over the corner of his toga.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on who you were), this made Enjolras’ costume rip off with a dramatic tearing sound, causing all eyes in the area to immediately turn on him. 

Joly clapped a hand over his mouth, his and Jehan’s conversation abruptly forgotten. 

“Oh my god,” he whispered theatrically.  

Enjolras, apparently shell-shocked, was still standing in the middle of the room, completely naked except for his boxers. Which were covered with pumpkins.

 “Oh my  _god_ ,” Grantaire said, slightly louder. He looked caught between passing out from shock or amusement.

And that was  _before_  he saw the pumpkins. Because he had no reason to look anywhere besides Enjolras’s face. No reason at all.

His curiosity got the better of him after ten agonizingly long seconds, and holy  _crap_ , those were cute pumpkins. With  _faces_. He fell on the floor, clutching his stomach, tears streaming from his eyes. (Joly rushed to his side and fished out a stethoscope from who knows where, firmly convinced that Grantaire had gone into spontaneous anaphylactic shock; Grantaire accidentally-on-purpose kicked him in the shin to stop him from calling an ambulance.)

Enjolras, faintly flushed, met Grantaire’s eyes defiantly. “There. Are you happy now?” 

“More than,” he managed, still choking on his own bubbling laughter.

Enjolras dropped the remains of his bedsheet into Grantaire’s face. “Good. Because I aim to please.” He gingerly stepped over Grantaire’s still-twitching form on the floor, and nearly had the dignity to not step on his fingers. Nearly.

 When Grantaire had recovered enough to stand up (with Joly’s help), he had the decency to feel a shred of remorse. “That was probably a little much, huh?” 

“Probably,” Joly replied with a dry smile. 

“But I mean, did you  _see_  his boxers?” Grantaire asked, shaking his head disbelievingly. “Pumpkins! Smiling pumpkins!” 

Joly’s stern face only lasted a few more seconds before it was lost to a fit of giggles.

“Okay, yeah, it was pretty funny. Remind me why you like him again?”

“Don’t judge me!” said Grantaire with mock disapproval, and they burst into fresh spurts of laughter. 

Grantaire sighed after a few minutes. “I should probably find him, though. The way Prouvaire ran after him? Got to make sure our dear Apollo isn’t taken advantage of.” 

Joly rolled his eyes, but followed Grantaire out the door of the gym. 

It didn’t take long for them to locate him; he was in the study room, accompanied not only by Jehan, but also, inexplicably, by the others of the study group.  Enjolras was wearing Feuilly’s waistcoat and – well, it didn’t  _not_ look good on him.

 Well, actually, only  _most_  of the study group was paying attention to his angry retelling of the scene (and he was using way too many sweeping hand gestures than were probably necessary). Cosette and Marius were oblivious to everyone else - in a corner of the study room, still in costume, apparently eating each other’s faces. 

When Grantaire and Joly entered, the rest seemed to be entirely unperturbed by  _that_  scene, and were instead fussing over Enjolras.  Grantaire caught Eponine’s eye and jerked his head wordlessly at the pair; Cosette was still in her wheelchair, but her bald-cap was now slightly askew, probably due to the the becloaked Marius in her lap.

Eponine shrugged.

“I think this is just them being really in character.” 

“You can say that again,” said Grantaire loudly. Neither Marius nor Cosette heard him, but Enjolras jerked his head up suddenly.

“Grantaire!” he exclaimed with sickeningly sweet sarcasm. “Thank you for gracing us lowly individuals with your enlightened presence – “

“Hey, I just wanted to make sure that Prouvaire wasn’t having pity-sex with you in a bathroom stall after the pumpkin fiasco, but there’s no need to thank me or anything.”

“You have got to be kidding me…” muttered Enjolras darkly, spontaneously clutching Jehan’s hand.

“Grantaire!” warned Eponine, “ _shut up_.”

Not that Grantaire ever listened to Eponine anyway; he was nearly about to grab Prouvaire’s stupid bow and poke everyone’s eyes out when he was interrupted by his phone’s text alert.

It was from a number he didn’t recognize. Frowning, he held up a finger and opened the text. 

“And  _now_  he’s on his phone,” Enjolras muttered, throwing up his hands in frustration. Jehan patted his head reassuringly.   
   
 **[unknown] hey, got something 4 u.**

**[grantaire] great. and whos this?**  
   
“Sorry,” Grantaire said, looking up from his phone. “It’s either a wrong number or a drug dealer.”

Jehan narrowed his eyes. “Wait –  _or_  a drug dealer? You have drug dealers calling you regularly?”

“You’re one to talk, Prouvaire.”

“Huh?” asked Jehan, puzzled. Enjolras comfortingly ran one of those unfairly perfect hands through his date’s hair and glared.

“Anyways, Enjolras? You were saying?”  

“Oh,  _nothing_ ,” Enjolras bit out, “except you came all the way over here to make fun of me, but apparently you can’t even take the time to do that properly!” 

“Wait, what?” Grantaire frowned. “I didn’t come here to make fun of you, I—” His phone buzzed again. “Wait, one second.” 

Enjolras huffed in disbelief.   
   
 **[unknown] its bahorel u wanker**

**[grantaire] how did you even get my number??**  
   
“Okay, right, where were we?” Grantaire said, looking up from his phone again.

“Who are you even texting? Practically everyone you know is in this room!”

“I’ll have you know that – “

“Unless you’re texting yourself.” Enjolras coughed suddenly to make his voice about half an octave deeper. “Like all ’Oh, Grantaire, your hair is fabulous today!’ and ‘Yeah, Grantaire, I know, but it’s nothing compared to your eyes!’”

“Psh, are you serious? You think my voice sounds like  _that_? You don’t need me to make fun of you when you’re doing such a fantastic job yourself.”

“Oh, come on, I’m on a roll here! And then – “

“Damn. Hold that thought.”

**[unknown] u gve me ur numbr**

**[unknown] ages ago**

**[unknown] 4 that old case or whatevs**

**[grantaire] …i changed it 3 months ago**

**[unknown] haha m not stlking u or n-e-thing**

**[grantaire] jfc /stop/**

**[unknown] n-e-wys**

**[grantaire] are you /shitting/ me**

**[unknown] we need 2 hv a con-4-s-8-tion**

**[unknown] yo where did u go**

**[grantaire] screenshotting that monstrosity for posterity**

**[unknown] fjuck you i m cool**

**[unknown] meet me on tha football feild or somthn idk**

Grantaire snorted. “I’m really sorry, Enjolras, but this heart-to-heart’ll have to wait for five minutes.”

“Typical.” 

When Grantaire walked up to the field, a lone figure was silhouetted in the massive floodlights, casting a long shadow on the dying grass. Given the full moon, the whole effect was actually pretty spooky. 

“Hey, Bahorel!” he called, once he’d gotten a little closer. 

The figure jumped, then hastily dropped something that looked vaguely like a cigarette and stamped it into the ground. 

“Oh…um…alright there, Grantaire?” Bahorel said, smiling nervously. 

Grantaire frowned, sniffing the air. “Was that—” 

“So I’ve got the stuff you asked for!” Bahorel hastily broke in, shoving a manila envelope in Grantaire’s face. 

“The stuff—?”  

“Yeah, the…erm…answers and shit.” 

Grantaire’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Yes, really! Why would I lie to  _you_?”

“Well…”

“Save it,” Bahorel cut him off. “But are you sure you want it?”

“Give me,” hissed Grantaire by way of response, and when Bahorel dangled the papers at a height of what seemed to be twenty feet above his head, Grantaire tackled him savagely and started climbing him like a tree. “I need those!”

“You realize it’s morally unsound for me to give you these?”

“Do I look like I give a shit?”

“It’d be nice if you did. I mean, I’ll probably lose my job, and – “

“Again,  _I don’t give a shit_.  Besides, morals are relative. If my main goal is to get out of this place and go back to practicing law and making the world a better place – “

Bahorel coughed; the motion of his chest caused the still-climbing Grantaire to slip back down to his knees.

“ – Well, making prison cells less crowded and sleeping with fifty-four-point-zero-five percent of my clients – yes, I did the math – if  _that’s_  my main goal, then anything I do to make it happen in the shortest possible amount of time is morally the best course of action, and – “

“Fine, take them!”

“Seriously?” Grantaire slid down to Bahorel’s feet with a sadly loud thump.

The long-suffering psychology professor gave an exaggerated sigh. “You’re a lost cause, Grantaire.”

“Better than being a  _found_  cause,” called Grantaire as he ran off to the study room.

* * *

 "Ha! Suck it!" laughed Grantaire derisively, opening the door with a bang. 

Enjolras, sitting on the floor wrapped in the moth-eaten waistcoat and Jehan, didn’t look amused. “What is it now? Come to screw things up even more?” 

Grantaire’s face fell for a brief moment, but quickly regained its almost manic energy. 

“Actually,” he drawled, “This is the last time I’ll be coming to you at all.” 

Cosette let out a gasp; Marius pressed her hand solemnly. Grantaire wasn’t sure if they were still in character. 

“See this?” he said, waving around the manila envelope somewhat wildly. 

“No,” Enjolras replied dryly. “It’s not like you’re about to whack me in the nose with it or anything.” 

Grantaire didn’t even bother to glare at him, instead elaborating, “ _These_  are the answers to every stupid test and idiot worksheet in this entire school!“

The resulting silence was deafening.

“You want to open that?” said Eponine finally, looking slightly hurt for some unimaginable reason.

“Look, Bahorel’s not the type to give me a bunch of blank papers,” Grantaire reasoned without meeting her eyes, ripping the manila lip of the envelope in his eagerness to open it.

It turned out he was right. Bahorel was the type to give him a bunch of papers with _GULLIBLE WANKER_  written all over them in bright red thirty-six point Comic Sans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, again~ Part III of this chapter will hopefully be up sooner. XD  
> Both of us cry a lot with happiness whenever you leave us feedback, and as always, feel free to bother us on tumblr at dawidtennant and scarytaire.   
> And a very happy belated Haloween to all of our readers!


	3. Part III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is ao3 user anniedison speaking, as the remainder of this chapter is pretty much mine. So if you have any questions, complaints, or queries about this section in particular, you can find me on tumblr [here.](http://www.dawidtennant.tumblr.com)
> 
> My dearest coauthor feuilllys is currently on vacation, so if you'd like to tell her how awesome she is, you can find /her/ on tumblr [here.](http://www.charleshansens.tumblr.com)
> 
> And a very loud fangirly shoutout to my [betareader](http://www.queersammy.tumblr.com), who happens to be a flawless and gorgeous human being. <3

Jehan was the first person to react to the fake papers; he broke into shrill giggles at the sight of Grantaire’s face, white with fury. “That is  _so_  like Bahorel,” he choked. “Isn’t it  _adorable_?”

Enjolras eventually smiled too, easily – his expression seemingly natural. “Yeah, I guess it is adorable. What’s more adorable is the fact that Grantaire’s going to have to survive the next four years without any help  _whatsoever_  – “ he spat out the ‘whatsoever’, his tone jarringly violent. The shift was so abrupt that Grantaire refrained from making any comment about how Enjolras wearing Feuilly’s Darcy-esque waistcoat over those terrifying, cutesy pumpkin boxers turned him into an  _actual_  Jane Austen character.  Because nobody used the word ‘whatsoever’ in actual conversation,  _god_.

“ – Hey, isn’t that a bit harsh?” interrupted Mabeuf, his eyes watery behind his spectacles. (He’d dressed up as himself, except with vampire teeth.)

“Not harsh at all!” continued Enjolras, voice once again airy. “He wanted to be out of the study group; now he’s out! It’s not like any of us are letting him back in after that, right?”

“Oh, hold up, Enjolras,” said Eponine, rolling her eyes. “You can’t just make blanket statements for the rest of us, because  _personally_  – “

“Either he’s out, or I am. And I know you all actually  _need_  me. So, what’s it going to be?”

“Enjolras! You can’t just do that!” Grantaire blurted. “Sure, I screwed up. I put my trust in the wrong guy. But do I need to make my ‘I hereby pronounce you a Community’ speech again? Because we’re a family now, and that _means_ _something_. Second chances – we all deserve them, Enj. You would know.”

Wincing both at the nickname and the suddenness of the insinuation afterwards, Enjolras scowled. “I haven’t had great experiences with quote-unquote  _families_ , anyway.”

“But – “

“And besides, if the only lesson you’ve learned here is that even  _Bahorel_  has more morals than you, I think we’re done here. Jehan? Jehan – back me up here.”

“Artemis has no opinion regarding the petty debates of mortals,” Jehan said loftily, smoothing out his toga. “But good luck, Enjolras.” He leaned over to kiss him briefly on the cheek and then floated out of the study room, nearly breaking the tip of his bow off as it crashed against the top of the doorframe.

Grantaire gave his stunned and blushing sparring partner precisely five seconds to regain his composure before continuing. “So what gives you the right to hold the moral high ground anyways?”

“The…the fact that I’m…I’m not  _you_ ,” Enjolras stuttered.

 _Damn_ , thought Grantaire.  _He must have_ really _not been expecting that kiss._   “Apollo? You okay there?”

“Don’t patronize me! Don’t you dare - ”

“And here we go again.”

“But are you seriously trying to justify blatant cheating? It’s basically being too much of a coward to get yourself out of whatever situation you’ve landed in, all for  _what_?” He looked around at the remainder of the study group for approval, but they all had identical poker faces of the ‘oh hell to the no, I’m not getting involved’ variety.  All except Marius and Cosette, who were still lip-locked and unable to comment.  

“You’re one to judge, you know, being the kid who came here straight out of rehab,” said Grantaire, nearly laughing at the hypocrisy of it all.

Enjolras merely raised an eyebrow as if he was expecting the cheap shot, but Eponine’s blank expression immediately disintegrated. “You take that back right now, or I swear to god I will stab you with my stilletos. And they are  _sharp_.”

“But ‘Ponine, all’s fair in love and war,” argued Grantaire, leaving the  _and this is a little of both_  unspoken.

“You  _can’t_ ,” she responded hotly, vaulting across the study table to squeeze Enjolras’ arm.

But Enjolras pulled away, with a “By all means, Grantaire, let’s talk about that. Let’s talk about how I put so much pressure on myself that I literally fell apart. Let’s talk about how my parents kicked me out when I tried to do something about it, because it would ruin their reputation or whatever. Let’s talk about how this –  _this is my last chance_. And if I screw this up, I literally have nowhere to go from here but down.”

At this point, Marius jumped from Cosette’s lap and moved to Grantaire’s side. “Enjolras? I think we should stop here. Conversations like this never end well on television.” He still spoke with a faint German accent, as he adjusted his cape and helmet suavely.

“Fine, we can stop after I talk about how I want to get out of this lousy excuse for a college just as much as Grantaire does, but I want to prove to myself that I can get out of here on my own terms. So forgive me if I have no sympathy for cheating assholes.”

Marius piped up again with, “Well,  _I_  think – “and then turned apologetically to look at Grantaire. “Sorry, it’s your fight.”

“Nah, go on, Magneto. You’ll do better than I probably will.”

“Well, I think that it’s in Grantaire’s nature to take the easy way out, just as much as it’s in yours to carry the world on your shoulders. And you can’t fault him for that.”

“Yes you can!” countered Enjolras. “People can  _change_ , Marius.”

“You mean  _Magneto_  – “

“Fine, Magneto, people  _can_  change. Grantaire just  _won’t_. And if you want to debate that, you’re talking to the wrong person.”

“But – “

“I think you’ve done enough here,” Cosette said, cutting him off. She expertly maneuvered her wheelchair to Enjolras’ side, somehow managing to look menacing even with her bald cap. “Either Enjolras is right or you are, and either way, it doesn’t matter. The basic point is that Grantaire’s not going to fix himself any time soon, so until then, I guess he’s out of the study group.”

“Cosette!” cried Grantaire with a despondent horror in the pit of his stomach. “I taught you how to play hangman – like, the real way! I painted your nails for you…that one time! You can’t do this!”

“That’s Professor X to you, and I don’t give a fuck. Come on, Erik, should we show him the door?”

Marius shook his head sadly. “Oh, Charles.”

“We want the same thing!”

“My friend, I’m sorry, but we do not.”

Cosette’s breath hitched in her throat for one crucial second. Then her eyes flashed furiously as she shrieked, “Okay, hold up, time out. I only saw the movie once, but that was my line. I  _know_  that was my line. Guys, it was, right?” She turned to face the study group.

Enjolras burst into hysterical laugher. “Cosette, you can’t be serious, who cares?”

Eponine and Feuilly locked eyes and shrugged identically, Mabeuf scoffed and claimed that comic books killed brain cells, and Grantaire held his hands up, looking affronted. “Don’t look at me, I watched it for the eye candy.”

Cosette spared Grantaire a glare before wheeling back around. “Erik Lehnsherr, you can’t steal my line!” she accused. “It is  _so_  on.”

“Oh yeah, Xavier?  But you stole  _my_  line first.”

Cosette squeezed her eyes shut before gravely uttering the pronouncement, “Your mother never loved you,” in a pained and hollow voice. “But you knew that already, didn’t you? You were a burden.”

Enjolras was the only one who could bear to look up at Marius at that point, and even he flinched at what expression he could see through the helmet. It was as if Cosette had broken through two layers of his persona rather than merely his costume.

But Marius’ face nearly instantly reverted to impassiveness as he pulled a quarter out of his pocket and flicked it at Cosette.

“Ow! What the hell – “ she was cut off with another coin to the arm, this time a half dollar.

“Yeah, I’m with her,” muttered Grantaire out of the side of his mouth to the nearest person, who happened to be Enjolras. “ _What the hell._ ”

“I didn’t know it was even possible to be  _that_  in-character. It’s like method acting, but worse,” he whispered back, managing a brief grin before realizing that even associating with Grantaire was against his principles.

“Oh, so you’re talking to me now?”

“Mistake.”

“Figured,” Grantaire said frigidly, rolling his eyes.

“You know what? I’m leaving.”

“And you know what? So am I.”

“Fine. Joly left the study room when you went to get the fake cheat sheets, incidentally, so go find him or whatever.”

“Fine!” shot back Grantaire, feeling more childish than ever and reveling in it.

They simultaneously exited the door of the study room before turning and stalking off in opposite directions, the echoes of chaotic clamor still ringing in their ears. (“You’re taking  _his_  side?” Cosette was yelling. “The thing about his mom was totally fair! You’re like a sister to me, Ep! How could you?”)

* * *

 

Enjolras, now in the gym again, literally bumped into Combeferre in the dark corner next to the punch bowl.

“Could you maybe  _not_  step on my foot next time?”

Enjolras grimaced in sympathy. “Sorry, didn’t see you.”

“You and like twenty others,” Combeferre hiccupped miserably.

“How drunk are you?”

“Dunno. The punch is really spiked though. Like  _really_.”

“Good,” said Enjolras savagely, taking a cup and downing its contents in one go.

“ _Enjolras!_ ”

“What?” he asked with furrowed brow, grabbing another cup challengingly.

“The hell happened to you? You’re technically drinking illegally and you don’t seem to be giving a shit? And your costume – seriously, what the fuck are you wearing, Enjolras?”

“I didn’t expect a Spanish Inquisition. ‘Specially not from you - ”

“Shhh!” hissed Combeferre violently, clapping a hand over his friend’s mouth, only an instant too late.

“ _Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!”_ cried Senor Javert, jumping out of nowhere in a billowing cloak. Enjolras gave a strangled scream and dropped his second cup of punch all over Combeferre’s feet.

“Don’t worry about the shoes,” said Combeferre in an attempt to be comforting as Javert leaped away victoriously. “They’re not mine. The coat’s not mine either. I came as a vampire, not –  _this_. I don’t even know what this is.”

“Elaborate?”

“Nah, you go first. What did Grantaire do now?”

“Am I that obvious?”

“Enjolras, I like to flatter myself that I know you better than anyone else here.”

“That’s debatable,” Enjolras mused, cracking a half-smile and nudging Combeferre with his shoulder.

“Look, on the first day of school when we met, I hacked into the school records to get your cell phone number.”

“That explains a lot. But you’re trying to prove what, exactly?”

“I’m not. I just felt like saying that. I must be more drunk than I’d thought. The actual point I was trying to make was that every time you have a problem, it’s always a Grantaire problem. At least I  _think_  that was what I was trying to say. Oh, fuck, my head is  _splitting_.”

“’Ferre?”

“No, I’m fine, I’ll explain later. So what’s with him this time?”

“He made me rip my toga and screwed stuff up and was generally an asshole – “

“ – And you’ll forgive him, because that’s just what you do.”

“Not this time.”

“Why, did he murder someone?”

“As good as.”

“Who?”

“My self-confidence.”

“And you do enough of that yourself without him around.”

“ _Exactly!_ ” Enjolras exclaimed, trying to take another swig of punch before Combeferre confiscated his cup.

“Okay, Enjolras, you know why you haven’t done anything about him yet? Because you need him just as much as he needs you.”

“Don’t  _you_  start, ‘Ferre. You’re drunk, remember?”

“He’s everything that’s not you, but he’s you to the letter in terms of delivery. Which is why you clash so much.  _Damn_ , I’m deep when I’m wasted.” He stared off into the distance, where Dean Valdean was swaying alone to imaginary music in a bread costume.

“That made zero sense.”

“Come on, at least Grantaire hasn’t done anything really bad - like steal your wallet with a hundred and two dollars of cash and three credit cards in it.”

“That was weirdly specific.”

“Was that an opening?”

“ _Yes.”_

“So I bumped into this kid, right? Looked nice enough – had a French accent, which apparently caused my brain to label him as trustworthy.” Combeferre laughed derisively before continuing. “Said he was trying to hide from a creepy ex, dragged me into the bathroom – “

“I hope you used protection,” deadpanned Enjolras.

“Fuck you, no, not like that! Costume switch. He told me he was the…Tenth Inspector Spacetime, whoever that is. Which is apparently why I’m in this giant coat from hell.”

“Inspector Spacetime’s this old British show – some guy in a bowler hat travels around space and time in a red telephone booth. Sorry, Marius has a thing for it. Go on.”

“So he took my vampire thing and put it on – looked better than me in it, honestly – then stopped me because we were about to leave with each other’s wallets and car keys and shit. So we exchanged all that crap, he shook my hand to thank me, and apparently used that as a distraction because I legit have nothing on me right now.”

“Bastard. Did you get a name?”

“Courfey-something. He vanished after that though. Probably left.”

“Oh.”

“He seemed too  _nice_  to be a pickpocket!”

“Yeah, you’re really drunk _.”_

“You think I don’t know that? I’m pissed off and have to get home and cancel all my credit cards. Now you go find Grantaire and accept his apology, because we both know he’s going to apologize. It’s too late to take the bus home and I need a ride now that I don’t have my keys. And don’t deny that he has the best car out of the lot of you. He  _does_.”

* * *

 

Grantaire, meanwhile, had found Joly near the exit to the school’s parking lot.

“Thank god, ‘Taire. We need to get out of here. You know what happened?”

“No, I don’t know what happened. Let me guess. The fake blood on your shirt stained a chair and now you’re running away from the authorities who’ll make you pay for the damage – or worse, take home the chair. A bloodstained chair in your apartment?  _What_  a travesty. Even if it  _says_  nontoxic, it’s not like you can trust - ”

Joly stepped on Grantaire’s foot. “Asshole. Well,  _actually_ , yeah, that’s partially true – but you know what else happened?”

“Maybe a giant worm ate someone’s head and – “

“Don’t even finish that. But did you know that Starburns and the hot stats teacher are apparently a thing now? It’s pathetic and – “

“First, exactly how hot is this teacher? Should I transfer into statistics? Because I’d  _totally_  do that if you say it’s worthwhile. Secondly, I thought you hated that kid.”

“You’re the king of love-hate relationships, you tell me.”

“Christ, Joly, are you  _serious_? His sideburns are shaped like stars and he’s _bald_ and apparently he’s desperate enough to go for a math teacher. Please tell me you’re fucking with me because – “

“ _You_  have no right to insult Bossuet! That’s my job.”

“Oh, you’re further gone than I am. Wow.”

“Grantaire, please don’t – “

“Mmkay, then how about we get in my car and you can drive, because I’m still kinda drunk-ish, and we can go to my house and have some stunningly spectacular sex, and then – mmph – god, you are a really good kisser. Like textbook good. Do you study this sort of thing in anatomy class, or - “

It took them fifteen minutes to get to the car at that rate.

They were halfway to Grantaire’s apartment when he finally decided to mention, “Oh, and my study group kicked me out, I thought you ought to know.”

Joly slammed on the brakes at a green light. “ _What?_ ”

“Yeah, Enjolras accused me of immorality and banned me. Granted, he  _was_ right, and I was an ass about it, so I’ll let it slide.”

The driver behind them had started honking incessantly. “Look, ‘Taire, I don’t think it’s my place to say anything because I’ve only known you for a day – “

“Then  _don’t_.”

“But I don’t give a fuck about what you tell me to do, so  _there_. You’re not giving these people up without a fight, okay?”

“You can’t tell me what to do!”

“Too bad, I just did.”

“Joly – “

“You’ve talked to me about nothing else besides these guys all day – you need them. And I know people, Grantaire, enough to know that if I turn this car around right now, you won’t stop me.”

“Yeah, ‘cause the police will do it before I can. It’s a no U-Turn intersection.”

“Well, that’s just too bad, isn’t it?” said Joly through his teeth, nearly crashing into the car behind them as he careened away.

* * *

 

Marius, back in the study room, had run out of coins to throw at Cosette; he’d had to resort to the ignominy of picking up used coins off the floor to re-throw.

“Guys, don’t you think this has gone on a  _little_  bit too long…?” ventured Enjolras, who’d come back into the room with Combeferre to search for Grantaire but ended up being too scared to leave again. They’d probably blow up the library if he didn’t stay.

“He has a point,” Jehan reasoned. (He’d come back in too; Enjolras had called him and begged him to act as a mediator, which ended up not working out all that well.)

“No!” screamed Marius and Cosette; Enjolras and Jehan both shut up.

“You’re a little shit, Magneto, you know that?” panted Cosette ten minutes later, dodging a coin from her wheelchair. “No wonder everyone hates you! And I know that you know that everyone hates you, because I can read your mind. Ha!”

“But did you forget that my helmet blocks telepaths? I cannot  _believe_  I kissed you!” he retorted, his German accent harsher than normal.

“Oh, this is stupid,” Cosette finally admitted. “I’m going home and never coming back.” She threw her bald cap on the ground and shook her hair free, glowering at Marius the whole while.

He met her eyes with a sudden expression of grave surprise. “ _I cannot believe I kissed you_ ,” he said again with a shocked horror this time, removing his helmet and placing it on the study table. He stared at the sad-looking cardboard concoction as if it was going to come to life and bite him. “I guess it was all the costumes, then.”

She looked him up and down, faintly pink. “We are never doing matching costumes again. I think I have to wash my mouth with soap, oh  _god_ , I  _kissed_ you, and what was I  _screaming?_  - I don’t even remember what we were fighting about – “

“No, Cosette, it’s my fault, I – “

“I said something about your mom, didn’t I? Oh,  _Marius_.” She leapt out of her wheelchair to hug him, and clung to him as if she was drowning.

Eponine heaved a sigh of relief from the sidelines and split her eighth Almond Joy with Feuilly and Mabeuf.

That was when Grantaire came rushing in, dragging Joly behind him. “Jesus Christ, I am so fucking sorry. You have no idea - Enjolras, I don’t know what – “

“No, don’t bother. Second chances, right?”

“I might need a third. Or fourth.”

“Don’t push it, Grantaire.”

He winked. “Was worth a shot. But come on, guys, this party’s still salvageable, right?”

Enjolras checked his watch. “I have  _homework_ , and the last bus’ll leave in two minutes – “

“Salvageable?” questioned Grantaire, holding out his hand. Enjolras bit his lip to stop himself from smiling  _too_  obviously, and took it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's pretty much it for the Halloween episode, excluding the tiny coda of ch4~
> 
> In case anyone wants a tiny preview, the next few sections will involve Marius' lousy excuse for a family, and the Community debate episode (for the uninitiated, this means that Enjolras and Grantaire /do/ share a kiss, and it will be epic). Also we're dipping into actual Community seasons 3 and 4 to introduce Courfeyrac earlier, so watch out for that. 
> 
> Feel free to comment, it makes us happy beyond belief~


	4. Outtakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just Les Amis screwing around and being little shits, as a thank you to all of our readers for being unbelievably patient with our delays.

“Okay, you two, back to back.”

“No,” muttered Enjolras, glaring at the camera. “I don’t see the point of all this ‘preserving memories’ bullshit anyway. Like seriously, you’re not going to look at this again.” He pushed his shoulders angrily against Combeferre's, hard enough to bruise.

“Come on,” wheedled Marius. “It’ll be cute! You and Combeferre are both wearing coats that don’t belong to you and you’re not very happy about it! The titular possibilities are endless!”

Cosette giggled.

“He’s talking about what to title the picture, Cosette, it’s not…” explained Combeferre, but she still couldn’t stop laughing.

“Marius, my life goal is not to be cute. I’m the least photogenic person in this room, and – “

Grantaire scoffed.

Marius tightened his grip around his phone camera. “…Hold it right there, Enjolras. That eyebrow is perfect. You look like you’d rather be anywhere else but here, and it’s beautiful.”

“I wonder why,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes heavenward.

Marius snapped it right there – he immediately emailed it to Grantaire, who – spoiler alert – would later print it out on fancy paper and give it to Enjolras in a frame for his birthday.

* * *

 

“Guys, if you’re taking so many selfies, don’t you want to do it _in costume_?” asked Eponine lazily from the couch in the room.

“We are never putting on costumes ever again,” shuddered Cosette. “Ever.”

“Suit yourself,” said Eponine. “I just got a lot of popcorn and thought we could make a movie night out of it. You two are _hilarious_.”

Cosette wrinkled her nose and stuck her tongue out at the camera.

“That’s called projection, Cosette. You’re mad at me and taking it out on Marius’ phone camera! See, psych is actually teaching me something!”

Cosette threw the phone at Eponine and nearly broke it.

* * *

 

“For the last time, Mabeuf,” groaned Feuilly, “the lens is on the other side! That’s why you keep taking pictures of you instead of me. Oh, and that would have been the ceiling. You just took a picture of the ceiling, nice going. Marius, get your phone back before he breaks it  again – oh, he’s worse than my five-year-old.”

* * *

 

“Wait, why are you *bleep* taking a *bleep* video instead of a *bleep* picture! Marius, what the *bleep* are you doing? Did you get an app that can *bleep* bleep stuff out? Why are you *bleep* bleeping me out? I can *bleep*say *bleep* if I *bleep* want to! Oh my *bleep* god, how are you even predicting exactly when I’m going to say *bleep* - “

“This is a family-friendly late night talk show, Grantaire, so I suggest you tone done the vitriol – “ Marius looked pointedly at Joly and Jehan, who apparently could imitate a high-pitched laugh track when coerced.

* * *

 

“I kind of wish I’d gone home,” said Enjolras to Grantaire, at some point probably past midnight. “This is kind of bullshit.”

“That’s half the fun, isn’t it?”

“Define ‘fun’.”

“Come on, Apollo, live a little! You’re eighteen; you might as well do some dumb shit while you still can. Paint the town red and all.”

“Why bother? You’re living enough for the both of us.”

“That’s why you have me,” said Grantaire with a smile and a shrug, leaving Enjolras blushing for the third time that night. 


End file.
